Witch Way
by LivingForTv
Summary: Sam is kidnapped by a witch and Dean goes looking for him together with Bobby. Turns out the witch and Bobby have a history.
1. Chapter 1

**Should there be a DISCLAIMER up here? In that case: There's nothing original in here. And Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**First come first served**

The first thing on Sam's mind when he woke up was an acute awareness of danger nearby, there was something behind him and he had to fight it. He couldn't see anything, where did the streetlamps go? And why couldn't he turn around, what were the thin, rough threads that seemed to be in his way everywhere he turned, was he stuck in some sort of reed? Or a particularly tough fern? Sam had been taught to be silent while he fought, a piece of advice he had been given and then taken to heart after too many close encounters. So he overruled his instincts, to call for help, and instead silently redoubled his efforts. Why couldn't he turn around? He felt like he was drowning.

"Easy there, Sam. Easy. I am trying to stitch up a cut in your shin. Easy. You want to bleed to death?"

Sam stayed and listened, he realised that the woman had been saying the same thing over and over. What woman? What cut? How bad was it if he couldn't move? For some reason he had a flash vision of a sheep getting tangled in a barbed wire and, while fighting to get loose, would struggle in fright against the person helping. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and find out what was going on. He didn't quite recognise his voice as it came out, shaky and hoarse, urgent:

"Who are you? What happened? Where am I?"

He wanted to know where Dean was too but bit back that question, he wasn't going to ask until he knew who he was talking to. Years and years of training told him not to give anything away before he knew if he was supposed to have a brother, a cousin, a friend, a business associate or a partner. Or if he was pretending to be on his own. And as far as he knew Dean might be close by, waiting for his chance to jump someone. And he wouldn't appreciate being made. He felt he was confused and not up to current events. But even though Sam was high on adrenaline, a painful sting in his right leg made it through to his mind anyway. Annoyed at not being able to see and frustrated with the things that kept getting in his way when he tried to move he still listened for an answer, both from the woman and the wound she had spoken about. The woman's voice had dropped a notch when he had ceased struggling and was now almost a murmur, she seemed absorbed in whatever she was doing and spoke slowly:

"I will tell you in a bit, I will. But I have to concentrate on his for a minute or two or you will end up losing more blood. Cuts like these don't heal very well on their own and they bleed a lot when they open. Some stitches will take care of it."

Sam found himself laying motionless and stiff, striving to hear what she said, her murmured words punctuated by sharp stings in the leg that was already throbbing with a feverish fire. He felt hypnotised. Hypnotised! _Witch_! The word sent a mental bucket of cold water over his body and mind and he immediately tried to push himself up and was again frustrated.

But this time he had regained his senses enough from whatever stupor he had been in to recognise the hindrance for what it was - ropes. It was ropes that kept him down. Ropes meant caught. Ropes meant danger. _Cut free_! He gathered his strength, found the points where they cut into him, and yanked at them with all his might. Again and again, panicked, angry, determined not to be helpless. And he felt the pressure of the cloth covering his eyes, blinding him. With hard earned routine his mind went into intuition mode, no longer trying to see with his physical eyes, unconsciously taking note of the places where the rope gave the most and concentrating his efforts around those places. Not wasting any energy in asking questions. He felt the movements of someone leaving their place by his leg and coming closer to his face and then a soft _click_ of something held above his chest. He stiffened, thinking it might be a gun, but the only thing that happened was that the woman spoke in her calm, unhurried voice:

"You have a brother, don't you? Want to see him?"

Sam felt an instant tightening in his stomach, his brother was in enemy hands! What condition was he in?

"Dean. DEAN! Where is he, what have you done? Please, don't hurt him! Please. What do you want? Just tell me. Please don't... _Dean!"_

Sam felt his voice catch in the throat, bringing out the last words in a croak as he struggled harder against the ropes and heard another soft _click_ from the thing held above his chest, but this time he had greater fears than a gun. The woman spoke again:

"Relax, as far as I know your brother is free, probably looking for you. Now, let me see if I can't finish this. There is a last stitch to be tied and then we'll talk."

She didn't wait for him to answer, just went back down to his leg and he felt the pull of a thread. Sam had had cuts sewn together on a regular basis since he was eight and he knew that she wasn't lying about that, at least. Who the hell was this woman? He wanted to keep her talking, both so that he'd know where in the room she was and to find out more about his situation.

"Who are you? And how do you know my name?"

Being temporarily out of other options for action he tested the limits of his movements, taking care not to move the leg she was working on. He quickly found out that he could only raise his head and upper body a few inches and that the ropes only went across his wrists, being tied firmly onto wood about 10 inches away from his body. A little wriggling told him there had to be holes in the wood that the ropes loped through. Good. A possible weakness. Now, about the legs... Just then the woman spoke:

"Done."

And with that he felt the familiar, bearable burn of alcohol on a fresh wound and he drew a deep, slow breath, letting the pain run its course.

"And that should do it. You can move the leg now though I assure you the knots I tie don't come off."

She rose, making sounds that made him think she was packing away a medical kit. Sam immediately tried lifting his legs but found that, though he could move them a bit more than the hands, they were bound seperately and stretched down to something very solid, not allowing enough room for a serious muscle attack. The only thing that gave when he pulled was the rope itself. Meaning it had to be the wrists he would concentrate on. He drew another deep breath and asked again, through gritted teeth:

"Who. Are. You."

There was a brief hesitation in her movements and then in her voice as she said:

"Call me Maggie. If you have to. I have a call to make, it will take about half an hour. Why don't you spend that time rubbing your wrists raw? I know you will even if I tell you I have no intention of hurting you."

There seemed to be the trace of a mild regret in her voice as she spoke the last sentence and Sam snorted.

"Right. I am here for my health, am I?" he asked, letting fury mask his fear.

"See what I mean? Well have fun."

And with that Sam heard her leave the room and felt her presence disappear. A wooden door was thrown shut but not locked. Where was Dean, did he know he had been captured? He couldn't tell how long he had been unconscious, he couldn't even remember how the abduction had happened. There had been someone behind him... But if Dean knew he was missing he'd be searching by now, and he'd find him, eventually. He only hoped it wouldn't be too late. Sam kept working the ropes around his hands with the same blind flair he employed when picking a lock while he turned to thinking about his captor. Who was she? Why had she bothered with his cut? Had she made it? What did she want? Her words about "not hurting" him were none too easy to believe, considering that he was so tightly tied down that he could barely move.

Sam had had some experience with evil females, having known some bad witches, and bitches, before and they did not always cut right into you, wanting you to die. Nor did they always want to threaten him first thing. Coercion was a usual tactic. And once or twice there had been other things on their minds than blood or sacrifices... The memory of a voice rose in his mind "...shh, this won't hurt, you'll like it..." But those were not times he wanted to think about. There was a definite feeling of power around her and that, together with the hint that she had taken his brother as well, had made him panic. Why had she said that if she hadn't? He thought about the clicking sound, that he had first interpreted as a gun, and felt sure that it had something to do with that. He took another deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out as he pressed the back of his head against the thin mattress and focused fully on the ropes with renewed patience born of survival instincts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here, Dean, Sam and Bobby all belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke**

**Out Damned Spot**

Maggie, or Margarete Vell as she had once been known, shut the door behind her and walked into the little cottage's only other room, a combined den and kitchen, and walked straight up to the open laptop and sat down, exhausted. For a few moments she did nothing but stare blindly at the screen, then she picked up the digital camera she had used to record Sam's pleading for mercy for his brother. She moved to connect it to the computer and realised that her hands were all bloody. _More blood on my hands_, she thought, numbly looking at them. Whose blood was it again? She shook her head to get rid of all the faces that swarmed her vision. Then she went over to the sink to wash her hands and wipe away the blood from the camera. "A little water clears us of this deed" she muttered and shook her head as the face of a teacher, a woman long since gone, stared out at her from memory. Accusing her

Then she went back and proceeded to upload the sequence. Her hands unconsciously curled into fists as she watched the scene unfold in front of her, pushing down the unwelcome surge of need. The screen filled up with a frame showing the head and chest of a young man, blindfolded, his head and shoulders struggling against off-screen bonds and failing to raise more than a few inches from the thin, crumpled mattress. On his grey T-shirt, slightly above the heart, a large, sticky patch of blood. Calling, pleading in panic: "Dean. DEAN! Where is he, what have you done? Please, don't hurt him! Please. What do you want? Just tell me. Please don't... _Dean_!" She resolutely clamped down on her feelings of mingled pity and pleasure and got to work. She watched it again and cut both the frame, showing as little as possible of the room, and the length of it, making sure her voice couldn't be heard anywhere. Then she sent the sequence to Dean Winchester's cellphone along with a message that he could expect a call in five minutes.

Having done this Margarete put the computer on a five minute countdown and went over to the window to stare out in the darkness of the forest. The window reflected a dark image of her as she looked into the glass and she briefly acknowledged it before letting her gaze travel beyond. She had already spent too many hours contemplating her features and they no longer held any horrors for her, though that couldn't be said for other people. Her hair had always been a silky, golden brown and was, ironically, unchanged by the curse. She remembered the days of vanity when she had wished for a mass of curls, preferably red, and been quite satisfied with the rest of her looks. Not so now. Her eyes were a fierce red, noticeably glowing even in daylight and, though they gave her excellent night vision, they also effectively cut her off from any society. But if that had been all of it she might have hid behind some kind of special glasses. But it wasn't. Her skin was a ghostly grey and make-up, long sleeves, scarves and gloves could only cover so much.

And still, that was only the beginning of it. Worst of all was the craving for blood and the need that came around twice a month - to rip living things apart. Stalk a prey, letting it know she was there. Tear at it with her teeth. Feed off terror and blood. To think she had once been annoyed with PMS. The thought was laughable. That had only ever made her _want_ to rip people's heads off, it hadn't actually made her _need_ it, nor made her capable of it.

There was also the power that radiated from her when she got upset or was about to be consumed by the curse. Even very ordinary, self-centered people would instinctively shy away from her, tough street gangs of drugging teenagers with several weapons each would grow quiet as she passed, security guards or policemen would put a hand on their weapons. Not even Salvation Army men and women would ask her to come and eat with the other homeless people, even though she looked as down on her luck as they did. When she had realised the fear she put in people she had used it to the limits, revelling in it… The computer gave off its signal, telling her that Dean Winchester's thinking time was up. She opened the front door and stepped out into the night as she pressed dial and waited for him to answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke**

**A friend in need is a friend indeed l**

Dean had had a bad afternoon all together. First, there had only been ice cold water in the shower and he certainly didn't feel up to stepping into it. It wasn't very macho, he knew, and he wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, but since he was alone he could afford _not_ to get soaked in ice cold water. But he had wanted a shower and being denied one made him irritated.

Then he had realised that he had lost his favourite knife in the last ghost hunt some 300 miles south. He had been torn between immediately getting into the car and drive all the way back, and to flop down in front of the TV, having just driven 300 miles... But the knife would certainly be in the lockup of some police station by now, the scene they had left behind hadn't exactly been unobtrusive. He'd miss that knife!

And to top it off Sam hadn't come back to the motel after his walk. Dean was used to him being away for different lengths of time, but he was also used to having a feeling for how long Sam needed to be alone. And after two hours he was getting concerned. They hadn't seen anything particularly troubling in the last week and they hadn't been fighting.

He had decided to call and found that Sam's phone was shut off. Sure, he could have gone to the movies if he had seen something interesting on display... but he _still_ wouldn't have shut off the cellphone. Not anymore than the President's bodyguards would. They were hunted by every evil thing on general principles and by a score of demons for personal reasons. They _needed_ to stay in touch.

By eight in the evening Sam had been missing for four hours and Dean was slowly going frantic. He had cruised all the streets in the little town in the Impala, looking for his brother's body, getting out in every dark, suspicious alley to have a look among the dustbins and the few homeless the town could support, called the hospital and the police station and walked the darkened baseball court, shining his torch in every shadow. All to no avail.

He was sitting behind the wheel outside the motel, looking at the dark windows of the room, knowing Sam wasn't in there, and considered calling Bobby or Missouri to get some help. Or maybe Ellen. He knew the hunters still kept her in the loop. But if she had known about some hunter going after Sam she would have called them straight away. It didn't make sense.

He held the cell in his hand when it finally signalled an arrival of a message and his mind flooded with feelings in rapid succession; the first one was profound relief, immediately followed by anger because he had been frightened, then growing fear as he wondered why he was getting a message instead of a call. But that fear was nothing compared to what the short film sequence generated. Dean almost doubled over as an icicle with barbs staked his stomach.

"Sam, SAM! What's happening? Where are you? Sam!"

Dean was yelling at the screen, the thought of "recording" didn't make it through the fear at first and he kept calling until it stopped. Then he stared numbly at it and, with shaking hands, he played it again. This time he paid attention to what his brother was saying and the icicle turned behind his navel. Sam was captive, helpless, bleeding, in enemy hands. And he pleaded for Dean's life… It was unbearable, but since there was no one else to bear it Dean did. He read the message that went with the sequence. "EXPECT A CALL IN 5 MIN. NO NEGOTIATIONS"

Dean opened the car and went out, breathing huge gulps of air. He couldn't stand up straight and it felt as though he needed to throw up. He stretched his torso across the hood of the Impala, letting its cool, rain soaked surface ease the pain in his stomach. After a little while he felt the dizziness abate and he resolutely swallowed the bile.

The words "no negotiations" kept repeating in his head. What if they'd only call him up to make him listen to Sam die? No, it couldn't mean that. That was worst case scenario and they never happened. Or did they? No. No. It had to mean that he would be given an ultimatum, something horrible most like. What would he have to do? His mind presented an overwhelming mass of pictures of things he had already done. To repeat them would be awful but it could be done. Couldn't it? Dean swallowed, he wasn't absolutely certain he could do those things ever again. Not even for Sam. All that was left to do was wait.

Shouldn't they have called by now? He looked at the cellphone he clutched and noticed that his hand was shaking. That was bad, he had to be in control now. The display showed that five minutes had lapsed and then, while he was looking at it, it rang. Dean promptly dropped it from sheer shock and quickly had to dive for it under the car. Then, at the same time as he pushed the answer button on the phone he also pushed the hunter's switch inside him, hiding all fear deep, and answered in a controlled voice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke**

**A friend in need is a friend indeed II**

"Dean Winchester", he said, to be clear and get everything rolling.

"We have Sam, there is something we want in exchange", a woman said, getting straight to business too.

Dean listened intently to the woman's voice, trying to figure out what she was. Demon, witch or vampire was at the top of his list. Maybe shapeshifter. The total control he had decided to exercise on himself got a bit knocked out of him since the woman hadn't been at all thrown by his calm voice. She seemed ice cold, focused. No torturing questions. No gloating. He licked his lips and nodded to her words. Whatever she wanted she would get it.

"What do you want, then?" He asked.

"Bobby Singer. Alive. Delivered in four hours".

Of all the things he had expected to be asked, this didn't even make the top 100-list. Bobby, the best friend they had, whose house was the closest thing they had to a home anywhere in the world! After all the people they had lost, friends and family, because they had cared about them and allowed them to be a part of their lives, he should have been prepared. That they would loose Bobby was only natural. But somehow Bobby had seemed indestructible, stability itself in mind and body. The icicle sprouted new barbs and Dean sank down next to the Impala, taking cover, minimising the target area as if the pain came from outside.

"Where?" he asked, marvelling that the word was even leaving his mouth.

"Allen", I will call you in four hours and you'll both be there", she said and hung up.

Dean's next question, "_why_?" was only heard by the quiet evening drizzle as he whispered it. _Why Bobby_? He had to get a grip on this, and he had to go someplace quiet. He rose with all the grace of a 90-year old and reluctantly turned to the motel and stepped across the threshold, alone. He looked over at his brother's bag and the discarded clothes he had changed from when he decided to take a walk. Then he sat down on his own bed and stared at the cellphone for a while before he called Bobby.

It didn't take more than a few seconds before his voice, guarded as usual, not giving anything away, simply stated:

"Yeah"

"Bobby, it's Dean. Sam has, has been, kidnapped, I guess."

Dean was dismayed at how weak he sounded, since when was he stuttering or second-guessing his own words? It had to end here and now. He straightened up and talked to the expectant silence on the other end.

"Well, he went out for a walk right after we came here, we, I, am in Edmonton, we were on our way to, anyway, he went out four hours ago. Then I got a video message with him all, all tied up and bloody…"

"Dean? You send me that video now, before we talk more. Send it now and I will call you when I've seen it".

Bobby hung up and Dean sent the message. Then he watched it again. For some reason, when he saw Sam's hard earned muscles straining to break him free his mind unexpectedly replaced them with the thin sticks of 13-year old Sam. His little brother had been late in getting muscles and Dean remembered how embarrassing it had been for Sam to practise moves with him when Dean had been 17. He recalled that he had once almost broken his left arm because he couldn't believe it wouldn't offer more resistance than that. He wondered if he had ever apologised.

Then the phone rang and he heard Bobby's voice, comfort, competence and experience in every syllable:

"He looks ok, Dean. I don't think he is badly hurt. Now tell me, what did they want?"

"You. Alive. Delivered in Allen in four hours". There was no other way to say it so Dean went for blunt.

A deep silence followed his words and he waited. It took almost a minute for Bobby to answer, but when he did his voice, though slower and thoughtful, was unchanged in terms of worry.

"I have made many enemies in my days and there are still a few unaccounted for. I have to put together a few things for all eventualities but I can still meet you there in about three hours. Take a room at _Ye Olde Inn_, we might as well have a base in case this takes time. And bring all your things".

"I will", Dean promised. "And Bobby…thank you"

"No need. It's not your trouble this time. Seems like they're using the kid to get to me. See you in three".

Dean had everything packed and was leaving the parking lot in less than five minutes, wipers going back and forth in the drizzle and the passenger seat emptier than it had ever been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**Better the devil you know…**

Margarete closed the phone with a snap, took note of the time and leaned back against the door, drawing in all the soothing particulars of the forest. Hearing every single rustle in the night, feeling the owl quietly gliding across the path, smelling only contented autumn. It was completely dark out here, the only light coming through the window on this side of the building was the laptop screen's unearthly blue. She savoured the night vision's many shades of grey and its emphasise on shapes rather than colour. All of this, together with her superhuman strength, would disappear if the curse got reversed. Somedays, in between the new moon and the full moon, when she was safely away from humans, she could appreciate her curse. All her senses were heightened and she felt all powerful.

She sighed. She knew she was powerful, that was how she had ended up like this in the first place. But she had done some thinking and decided that Bobby Singer would have to take it back, one way or another. If it could be done. Well, he better be able to reverse it, or there would be consequences. She opened the door and went back in, not bothering to lock it. What was the point? She was the biggest predator around. She poured herself a cup of herbal tea and went back in to talk to her hostage, the first human contact she'd had for a long while.

Sam stopped wriggling when he heard the door open and swallowed, preparing his mind and body for pain. His hands bunched up in fists and his knees drawn up as far as he could in a futile attempt at protecting himself from getting disembowelled. Of course, being blindfolded, he didn't know if she was carrying a scalpel or an axe, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. Mostly he wanted to get her talking, to put off the moment when she started doing whatever she had planned for him. He was saved the trouble of coming up with a good opening line though because Maggie did it for him. It seemed that she intended to talk too. And what was that smell, some sort of herb? Not a good sign.

"Hello again. We still have a few hours before the big show and we could use those to get to know each other, don't you think? She said, sounding calm and matter-of-fact.

Her voice was coming from a position slightly above him to the left. He heard her position the chair next to him and then the slight depression when she put up her feet on the mattress. She was way too close for comfort and Sam was laying rigid.

Margarete wrapped her hands around the cup and studied the young man. He was tense, which was to be expected, and he was breathing rather fast and deeply. But all in all he bore up well. A hero, then. She smiled to herself, it was always nice to come across those. It was not a pretty smile and she once again pushed down her cursed instincts and reached out for humanity. Since the young captive didn't seem about to say anything she looked at his wrists and frowned, saying:

"I see you have been concentrating on the wrists. Good choice, that's what I would have gone for. And if you got a couple of days I think you would have been able to break free. Only, I intend to have this solved before dawn so really, there's no need."

She took a sip from the cup and waited for him to comment. Sam's breathing caught and then it slowed slightly. When he replied he sounded cautious and deeply suspicious.

"How do you mean? I will be dead before dawn?"

"I don't think so, not unless you have a heart attack. I have some unfinished business with a friend of yours, Bobby Singer. I called your brother and told him to get him for me. Think he'll do that?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat, making the heart attack sound less of a joke, and he made an involuntary jerk. Not Bobby! He wouldn't trade his own life or freedom for Bobby's, not ever! But he knew with a sinking feeling that even though Dean knew this there was nothing that would stop him from making the decision for him. Because he would have done the same for him. Or would he? No. He wouldn't have just handed the older hunter over. He would have asked for his help. And Bobby would give it. Did the… woman? know this? Or would she expect him gift wrapped? If she did there was a chance. Sam made an effort to sound calm.

"What do you want with Bobby? He is a good man."

"He has his darker spots, his little secrets. I am one of them."

This was very confusing. Sam tried to imagine Bobby hurting something that didn't deserve it, but couldn't. Maggie was playing him, she had to be. But then again, he didn't know very much about Bobby, he rarely talked about himself or his other friends. Without conscious thought he had started working on the wrists again, drawing Margarete's attention.

"I did consider getting the handcuffs with pink fur, you know", she said, leaning forward, sounding amused, letting a finger gently caress the exposed, sore skin. They wouldn't have gnawed into you, but they felt a bit…"

She didn't finish the sentence when she saw Sam's reaction, a wild spasm when he lost the control he had fought to keep, his face drained of all colour, all muscles tensed and then a wild struggle against the ropes.

"Hey! Kid! Listen, I won't…"

She tried talking to him but Sam wouldn't listen, he was lost in a world of painful, frightening memories. It was probably best to let him work through it on his own she decided and took down her feet, pulled back the chair a little and waited for him to regain control. Calmly sipping tea. Wisely not touching him again. After a few minutes he gave up struggling and went limp, but Margarete waited until his breathing slowed, then softly said:

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to imply..." her voice trailed off, not sure of what word to use.

Sam, still shivering, could only give a short nod. For some reason he believed her. She had abducted him, probably scared the living daylights out of Dean, wanted Bobby for some obscure reason that might involve pain and death and she had, that was clear to his senses, a supernatural aura… but she didn't intend to hurt him _like that_. If she killed him it would probably be quick and at the moment he'd rather take that than anything else. He made an effort to allow his body to shove away the other, haunting memories and let the mattress take his weight. Both of them remained silent for a while until Sam, in an attempt to move away from the past minutes, asked:

"That herb, are you drinking camomile tea? Really?"

Margarete answered, a tinge of amusement back in her voice.

"What am I supposed to drink? Since you are wondering I will tell you I am a witch. Or used to be. Can't a witch drink herbal tea? And camomile is very good for steadying your nerves when you need to focus."

Sam considered her words, so she was a witch, or had been. He _really_ didn't like witches. But a witch drinking tea to steady her nerves? He relaxed a bit more. Whatever would happen when Dean and Bobby showed up he didn't feel threatened right at the moment.

"What about my nerves? You don't seem to be a complete beginner at this, tying people up. And Bobby, what do you want him for?"

He tried to sound calmer than he felt. He wanted to know more about this strange Maggie and about what she wanted to do to Bobby. Whatever her reasons he wouldn't give him up. And neither would Dean.

"Well. Maybe you are not so far off course, she said. I do have a rather black past. I will not pretend to be innocent or harmless… I can tell you a bit about Bobby's and my history. I intended to after all."

Sam wasn't all together sure he wanted to hear her story but he did want her talking. And he had a feeling he needed to know to be able to do something at the right time. So he nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**All families have a skeleton in the closet**

It took Dean a little over an hour to reach Allen and only a couple of minutes to check in at the motel. The pretty brunette behind the counter eyed him with interest and Dean found himself go through the movements on automatic, wincing when he asked for a room for two. Checking the name on the credit card, writing an unintelligible signature that began with the correct first letter clearly visible, smile his open, friendly grin that would make sure she didn't study it too hard, flirt a little, comment on the rainy weather and politely accept the tourist brochure for the area. Then he could finally close the door behind him and sink down in the stuffed chair, the sibling of a thousand before, his cellphone in hand.

Why did this feel so much worse than any of the other times when Sam had gone missing? But he knew why, normally he knew what the monsters wanted. And why. And last time this had happened it had been their father. Though they had got him back he had been badly used and possessed and in the aftermath he had died. This was bad, bad news. How did you deal with someone who didn't gloat or threaten or negotiate? Just… do this, you don't want to hear the alternative. And Bobby, what did they know about Bobby's enemies?

Dean didn't move from the chair until Bobby knocked on the door almost two hours later and he knew he was looking bad when his friend paused for a second before coming in.

"That bad, kid? You'd think this is the first time violence had entered your lives."

Bobby came in and put a bag on the floor, gave Dean a pat on the back and headed straight for the recently vacated stuffed chair. Dean sat down on the bed instead and they locked eyes.

"Bobby, if you know more than me, please, I want to know who these people or creatures are."

"Well, for starters I don't think it's "they", I think it's "she". There is really only one person I can think of that would want me alive badly enough to put all this in motion. Margarete Vell. I am guessing she knows, or has checked, that there is no way she can get close to my home. And if there was a fight… well. She wants to make sure I live because I am no good to her dead."

"Tell me this is good news for Sam." Dean said, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Bobby took of his trucker cap and scratched his head before answering. God knew he wanted to tell the boy that everything would be ok, but he really didn't know. Margarete Vell had been a mistake and she had got away. He had hunted her, almost exclusively, for two years and that had been his hunter's training because he had kept stumbling on, and surviving, one bad monster after another. Meeting other hunters. Reading up on the supernatural and collecting books as he went along. Like John Winchester he had had a nemesis, unlike John he had given up. He still thought of her everyday though. That she would resurface… What did she want now, so long after he stopped searching for her? Dean was looking intently at him, hoping he would have the answers. Well, time to come clean, it was his mistake that had put Sam at Margaret's mercy.

"She is a witch. A bad one. Powerful. She… she summoned the demon that killed my wife."

There. He had said it. The piece of information he had kept inside him. The fact that had turned into something so hard it couldn't ever break or let anything break him. Making sure he always found that extra mile inside of him, keeping his mind clear of foggy feelings, giving him the patience to study hour after hour, year after year, remembering every trick he encountered and having a network of hunters as his only friends. Not being afraid to die. Not even looking at a woman ever again because that would have been a betrayal of their love. Not forgetting his crime. He couldn't belittle what he had done to her by forgiving himself. Bobby had been looking away when he had made his confession and lapsed into thoughts so when he turned back to Dean he was alarmed at the boy's wide-eyed fear. He hastened to put his mind a little more at ease.

"Hey now, Dean, it doesn't mean she's hurting him. I am sure she has other things going, preparing a trap for us, she won't have any time to spare for anything else."

"A bad witch has my brother. A witch. They go crazy around him for some reason. Bobby, quit trying to put me at ease and tell me how bad. What do we need in order to vanquish her? Why is she still alive?"

Bobby nodded. He knew better than to argue. So he proceeded to tell Dean what he thought he would have to know, not hiding his own mistakes, while he kept an eye on the watch. Dean listened silently, rarely asking questions but every now and then he would take a turn around the room to stretch his muscles, warming up for the fight he longed for.

Bobby began by describing Sarah, the love of his life. An account of a woman filled with so many loveable qualities that Dean silently questioned his impartiality. Sarah had been a history teacher with a special interest in ancient religious texts and taught both at SD University and a junior high. Bobby had been a part time janitor at the junior high and part time auto mechanic. Seen with everybody else's eyes they had been an odd couple. But the love they shared, a love of reading and knowledge, and being two warm hearts beating for the little people, made them take it in their strides.

Bobby always had a kid or three hanging around him while he was repairing things around the school, wanting to talk and tell him about their troubles and dreams. He was often the first one to know when trouble was coming and the last one to stop asking questions, making sure he got the truth. Then Sarah would "happen" to be in the right place at the right time, making sure the child got the support it needed. It was a match made in heaven and Bobby couldn't remember a single fight they'd had.

Then Margarete Vell had made her entrance. She had been an intelligent, fearless 16 year old when she came to school after a move with her father. She didn't have a mother. Bobby and Sarah both kept their eyes on her, hoping she would fit in and be happy. But it was soon very clear she didn't want to fit in. At first it seemed like she was just another teenager in goth gear, being a rebel, but soon it was apparent that the girl was real trouble.

"I first understood that she was working black magic when I stayed late at work one night. The school yard was empty, except for a candle I almost missed because it came from the stairs down to the gym changing rooms."

Bobby sighed and looked away. If he hadn't had such good eyesight, if he had gone home early that day, if he had decided not to investigate...if if if. But he had gone over to have a look and caught her in the act.

"She was mumbling over a candle, I could smell burning hair and some bitter herb, I still don't know what it was, I have never come across it again, and then she pierced her own arm with a knife. Well, that's when I made my presence known and told her to stop. I intended to scare her by yelling, because I was freaked by what I saw, but she didn't even look up until she had finished her incantation. Then she looked at me and smiled. Telling me sweet as anything that she was done now and would go directly home."

Bobby stopped and remembered her eyes, they had been piercing and completely fearless. Next day a girl in her class hadn't come to school. She had burned herself badly, getting caught by her hair in the oven at home. She didn't come back to school until a month later and her long hair was gone...

"Of course, I hadn't seen black magic before so, even though I had my suspicions, I... did nothing."

Dean massaged his aching head with his fingers, messing up his hair. If she had been capable of that by 16... He turned back to Bobby who continued his story with him telling Sarah the same night what had happened, and she had reacted the only way she knew, she had begun an effort at becoming her friend. Her reasoning went that if magic was what she was interested in, magic would be the topic of their discussions. Preferably white. There was no real difference to religious prayers and magic spells in ancient times so, with her interest in old religious texts, she knew a lot about it.

The year she was at school Sarah managed to speak to her several times on magic, which was quite a feat as it didn't exactly come up easy, but the girl hadn't given anything away and never once was she caught doing it again. After school was finished she had left town on her own, not contacting her father again, and Bobby and Sarah had lost her too. They had been concerned about the girl but she was out of their reach. The father had died about a year later, hit by a car that swerved into his garden when he was reading the paper on the lawn. Everyone said it was a strange accident, given the odds.

Margarete had vanished like smoke. Until she had come back to enroll at the university when she was 20, taking Sarah's courses. She had matured and it was even more difficult to meet her eyes. Sarah immediately struck up their old acquaintance and tried to make her talk about what she did. This time she had agreed to the conversations, always maintaining that magic didn't exist and that her interest was purely academic. Showing a great curiosity in everything. And Sarah would come home troubled every time she had talked to the girl. Not being able to talk to Bobby about it, just asking him to hold her.

And then, one evening, it was in the middle of summer, a warm, beautiful evening, she hadn't come home. Bobby waited up all night. And when she finally arrived in the morning she was different. Possessed. Thanks to her research Bobby had known what had happened and challenged her, and the demon had spoken to him. Bobby sat leaning forward in the chair, not meeting Dean's eyes while he quietly recounted the last moments of his beloved Sarah's life.

"It said the most awful things. Telling me that the woman we had tried to turn away from the path of evil was irredeemable, that she was theirs. She had summoned the demon to get it to do evil, evil things. And that Sarah's body was theirs also. She would not know peace, that she was screaming inside... And it let her come out to look at me for a few seconds and she, she, whispered "help me" and... I did. First I drew my gun and aimed for her heart, but that only killed Sarah's body. Then, we had recently had the house blessed, on Sarah's insistence because we had bought a few old pieces of furniture, and we had a bowl of holy water in every room, and some fresh flowers, and I took the bowl in the library and flung at the demon. It reacted in the usual way, though that was the first time I saw it happen, and then it made to kill me but, it changed its mind and told me I would have to live with having killed my wife. Then it left in a black cloud and Sarah..."

Bobby stopped his recount and Dean stood motionless as waves of sorrow so powerful even he could feel them washed over his friend. There was a minute of silence while Bobby pulled himself together again and simply told Dean that from that moment on he searched for Margarete with murder on his mind.

When he found her, two weeks after the funeral, it was in a forest close by, laying in an occult symbol, surrounded by herbs, charms and pieces of animals that seemed to have been ripped apart by teeth. It had been ugly, he had wanted to shoot her there and then, kicking aside a bowl of something stewing, and that was when her spell had backfired in some way. Whatever the result she had been aiming for it wasn't achieved because Bobby had interrupted her by rearranging her things.

"I heard her scream in a way I have never heard anything scream, and her body changed. She seemed to be headed for the shape of some kind of bear or wolf when I fled. I had intended to kill her, but, she was a human being after all and, besides, the scream.... I knew something had gone horribly wrong and she would get her punishment."

Dean heard the note of satisfaction in his voice but didn't comment on it. The witch had gotten his wife killed, after all. Even good men were allowed vengeance. Bobby had gone back to the circle the next day, fully expecting a body, but instead realised that she had got away.

"Then I spent two years looking for her. I figured she had become some sort of monster and kept an eye out for strange sightings. I followed a trail of corpses that had been torn apart and bled... DEAN! Sit down."

Dean had been about to fall over but straightened up again, taking a seat on the bed, mumbling that he was fine. Bobby, who had risen up and steadied him, wished he had re-phrased that a bit. Still, he needed to know.

"Anyway, I found seven corpses that were her work for certain and every now and then I'd catch up with her. And this is where I _do_ have some good news, Dean. She could have killed me at least once but didn't. I found the traces where she had been lurking and she could have gotten to me anytime. And that's when I stopped following her actively."

Dean and Bobby looked at each other, both unsure how comforting this was. Would Sam be bled to death or spared? Margarete the witch was capable of both. That was when the four hours were up and Dean's cellphone rang.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**Two Sides to a Story**

Sam felt sick to his stomach. Maggie had told him about the rushing power in being a witch at 13. How she had begun with white magic but deplored the meagre results reaped, always so subtle and long in coming. Then she had discovered black magic. All quick, powerful results, all centred on what she had really desired, always at someone else's cost. Her encounters with Bobby and Sarah and how Sarah had come home to her the evening she summoned her first demon.

"It was a mistake. I had no idea it would need a body and Sarah had been on her way home to me, so the demon had simply taken her. Well, in retrospect I am sure it was pleased. I didn't like it, but it said it would leave her before twelve hours had gone, that was part of the deal I had made. So I put it to work... Well, wreaking havoc on our world is what they like to do the most. And when we were done with the spells it left. I was still high on the results we had achieved, the things it had taught me... I didn't know it would take Sarah home and get her killed. She was, well, perhaps not my friend but, she cared for me. I didn't wish for what happened."

Sam had tried to work his mind around what Bobby would have felt. And how he felt about this woman. She spoke of regret but her voice was calm, it was clear she didn't feign more feelings than what she had experienced. Still, there was a tinge of sadness. And Bobby had gone after her, and found her. She had explained in short that he had "interrupted her spellcasting, making her unfit for human eyes" and he wondered what that meant. It seemed she wanted to skip that part. But the images his mind conjured up almost made him relieved that he couldn't see her, almost, because he had seen some fairly awful things and felt sure he could deal with it. _Why hadn't Bobby killed her? Or she him?_ He had asked her if their paths had ever crossed again, instead, but she seemed to read his mind. Her answer to that had been straightforward enough but he could tell there was something more, something she wasn't telling.

"He looked for me. And I looked for a place to hide. At first. Then I looked for... things... to use my old and new powers at, to vent some anger, to get some kind of payback. Well, he found me first time around six months later. He wasn't a very good hunter yet and I was not very good at hiding."

She had spoken about the various ways she had learnt to avoid hunters because Bobby hadn't been the only one. But she seemed to have slipped out of one bind after another simply by being inexperienced and thus unpredictable. She didn't follow a real pattern, changing her mind and desires. He had found her two more times after that but she had noticed him first and decided against killing him.

"The last time, it would have been so easy. I was almost consumed by the curse at that time of the month and he parked his car in a very lonely spot. I could almost... but I didn't. And that's that."

At that point Sam had considered asking her about the curse more in detail, feeling that since it would probably have an impact on whether he, Dean or Bobby ever made it out of there alive, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Her aura was so strong her sheer presence felt like physical contact, but whenever he asked a question it was worse as she almost seemed to be inside his head. Instead he did his best to keep his own personal space clear from her.

She was quiet again, having finished the story, and he felt very uneasy with her eyes on him when he couldn't see her. He wanted her talking so he would know what she kept her mind on, or at least where she was, but she didn't seem about to. He also wondered if he should ask her to give him something to drink. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he had decided to leave his water bottle at the motel while he went for a short walk. How many hours had passed? The need to start working on the ropes again was strong but he didn't want her commenting on his helpless status or draw attention to it.

For a few minutes nothing changed in the room. Then he heard the low buzz of an alarm going off on a cellphone and she rose:

"I will go and talk to your brother now and direct him and Bobby Singer here."

And with that she left the room, shutting off the light and leaving her captive in the dark so no lighted window would guide the two hunters to her lair. Sam let out a breath of relief, being in her presence and under her gaze felt much like laying on a tanning bed, that was how strong her aura was. But the relief was mixed with frustration and despair and he immediately got back to stretching and expanding the ropes anyway he could, in an attempt to be free and able to help out when Dean and Bobby arrived. That they wouldn't come for him wasn't even in his thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**One way ticket**

When the cellphone rang Bobby immediately rose and crossed over to Dean who held it so both could hear. Dean opened up the call.

"Dean Winchester."

"You are to follow the yellow trail into the nature reserve and keep left in the two crossings. Keep driving until the road ends and come the rest of the way on foot. There is a cabin on the footpath." The woman's voice still held no emotion.

"How far is it to walk? I don't want to miss it."

"You won't, I will be near."

"And Sam? Can I talk to him?"

"He's alive, getting desperate for a rescue. You are not going to disappoint him by telling me Bobby Singer isn't with you, are you?"

"No he's here."

"Then come."

And with that she hung up. Dean and Bobby exchanged looks and Bobby had paled a bit, nodding, looking grim, and Dean knew his friend had been right. It was the witch. There didn't seem to be much else to do but leave as fast as possible. He didn't like the implications in Sam being "desperate". But when he went to rise Bobby grabbed his shirt and pulled him down again.

"Listen, Dean. There is nothing more important than getting Sam out of her reach. That is the only thing we are absolutely going to do. If there is even the slightest possibility of him getting hurt, well, that's where you abandon me and take him with you. Are we clear on this?"

"I hear you, but you know we can't leave you..."

"I said ARE WE CLEAR ON THIS? It's not a request. Margarete can kill just as easy and dispassionately as look at you. You don't get any warning in advance. She'll just... decide what she wants to do and do it, you won't see it coming. If I tell you to go you take Sam and go."

"If you say so, Bobby."

Dean looked at Bobby with a deep frown wrinkling his forehead, he had no intention whatsoever of leaving him in evil hands, but it didn't seem as though they would get out of the motel room unless he promised. He did his best to look cowed and obedient and Bobby nodded and let go of his shirt. They went out to the car, silent, each in his own thoughts.

Bobby knew the part of the reserve she had spoken about and soon told Dean to get off the main road and keep driving straight into the forest. Dean was absentmindedly thinking about the damage his beloved car would sustain if the road got any worse, but that was just to keep his mind off the picture of his brother struggling, pleading. For his brother's life.

Surprisingly soon the road got so bad he wondered if they would be able to drive any longer but Bobby just asked him to keep driving, looking more and more shut off. It was clear he knew the way, wherever they were heading. Dean wondered if he had ever taken his wife this way but he knew better than to ask.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**Can the Devil speak true?**

Margarete hung up and took a deep breath, glancing at her reflection in the window, wondering if it was the last time she'd see it. Then she went over to the sink and looked through the spell components she had laid out and took a last look in the book, making sure the incantation was still there. She gathered everything and put it back in the sack and went back into the now darkened room.

Sam was still working on the ropes but she didn't comment on it, or the fact that he held his breath when she bent down to shove the sack underneath his bunk. She checked the loops in the wall opposite the door and was satisfied that they'd hold, kicking the bundle of rope closer to them. Then she went over to her captive and hesitated. He licked his lips nervously and seemed to be trying to dig his shoulders through the mattress and board underneath it, putting as much distance between him and her as possible.

Well, she couldn't blame him. If he was as sensitive as she thought he was he would recognise a predator when it stood over him. She knew full well what she _wanted_ to do, the prey helpless before her, the smell of blood and fear making her heart thrum. Her eyes rested on the chafed wrists and she ached for the sweet mix of blood and sweat she would taste if she licked them. _Just one more, for the road_. But if she would get rid of the curse tonight she would be leading a much different life and she might as well start now. Once again she overruled her instincts and focused on his face, pushing the red tidal wave down.

"I have some water here. Are you prepared to risk drinking something a witch gives you?"

She wondered if she should have refrained from the last part of the question, seeing his reluctance, but she couldn't be ALL nice. Perhaps never. But Sam nodded, a quick jerk of the head, and she slid a hand under his head and directed the water bottle towards his mouth. After a few gulps she took it away. Sam couldn't hold back a sigh of relief, he had been really, really thirsty and the taste of water was heavenly. Especially since it tasted only of water and no strange herbs that would have unexpected effects.

He considered saying thanks but the choice was taken away from him as a broad piece of duct tape was suddenly covering his mouth, and then he felt her throw a blanket across his legs, tucking it in under them. What did she do that for? He could understand the duct tape, that made sense, but why the blanket? She came close to his face again and spoke slowly, with pauses between each sentence.

"Well, your rescue party will soon be here. I intend to capture both of them and tie them up over by the wall. Putting handcuffs on people like you would only mean a five minute break. Bobby Singer will help me with a little spell and, if everything goes as planned, you'll be leaving this place by dawn."

She hesitated for several seconds and, when she spoke again, her voice sounded more earnest, irritated and tired than he had heard it yet. As if she was saying something she was loath to admit.

"I want you to know that, even if I do or say some… threatening… things when they arrive, I won't hurt you. It was never my intention and... I apologise, a little, that I didn't say so before. I will try to "mend my ways". But it won't happen over night. Keeping you in fear was, well, out of habit. It's how I have lived since the curse. And some years before. Just... remember."

After having finished the things she had needed to say she left the room to go trapping, leaving a very confused Sam behind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**A stitch in time…**

Dean stopped the car, he had already been going at less than walking pace for a while, and left the engine at idle. He looked over at Bobby, questioning. And Bobby nodded.

"It's here. There's the footpath."

He pointed to an obscure sign, weathered to the point where you couldn't read the text, and stepped out of the car. Dean followed his example and they both shut their doors quietly. With no headlights shining and a clouded sky the forest was very dark. Both of them held their torches but were reluctant to turn them on.

The rain had left behind a strong smell of wet leaves and every now and then a bough would rustle in the wind, sending its watery burden to the ground with a sodden splash. Otherwise it was quiet. Dean wondered what they should do. They were going up against a very powerful witch in her own arena. Lighting the torches would make them extremely easy targets and not lighting them would have them blundering about in the dark, probably losing the path in less than five minutes. Bobby had been thinking along the same lines and made his way around the car to Dean and spoke in a whisper:

"Here, put this amulet around your neck. It will hold back some magic. Then walk close behind me. I have been here before so we won't have to use the torches much. Make sure you have your gun ready and the moment you catch sight of her, or hear or sense her, you shoot. And here, eat this. Make sure you chew it all around your mouth before you swallow."

Dean accepted the ice cold amulet he could only feel, treading it over his head, and took the bundle of dried straws Bobby held out. He sniffed them cautiously and crunched them in his hand, not sure he wanted to eat something that smelled so strange. He heard Bobby munching away already and it wasn't lack of trust in the hunter that made him hesitate but rather that it was magic. Of course, fight fire with fire, but still... He didn't want magic, he wanted steel and bullets.

With a mental shrug he shoved the bundle in his mouth and then had to use a lot of willpower not to spit it out again, the taste was unbelievably bad. After he had swallowed he had to stand still, leaning a hand against the car for support, and use even more willpower not to throw up. Bobby seemed unaffected and Dean wondered how many times he had used this trick in the past. He had always known Bobby knew a thing or two about witchcraft but he had never really thought about why, or how much, until now. It was obvious he was well versed at least in protecting himself from it.

"Ready?"

Dean nodded and Bobby walked towards the footpath, his feet barely making the sound of a whisper on the soft ground. After a few minutes of slowly creeping down the path, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and his gun at the ready, Dean felt a sudden wave go straight through his head and he was slightly knocked back. He had a feeling it would have been a lot worse if he hadn't eaten the straws before. Bobby reacted to it as well and immediately stopped and crouched, pointing his gun straight down the path and pulling the trigger. Dean knew it wasn't a very loud sound at all since the silencer Bobby used absorbed most of it, but in the hushed atmosphere among tree trunks and bushes the unnatural sound was so powerful he felt it almost split his eardrums. Nothing happened, no cry of pain and no falling of a body. Bobby cursed under his breath. After a few minutes of silence he started walking again, even slower than before, and Dean, getting more nervous by the minute, followed him.

After a little while he felt that someone was stalking him, the hair at the back of his neck rose and he drew Bobby's attention and they both stopped. That was when the air started shimmering around them and Dean felt as if his arms and legs got tangled in invisible strands of a web-like quality. He found that it wasn't impossible to rip them apart though and this time he felt where the attack was coming from and directed his gun straight into the forest and fired. His silencer took most of the sound but it was still loud enough to interfere with his hearing for a little while. They both listened for a hit but when none came Bobby gave him a shove and they moved away from the shimmering web, struggling a bit.

Dean felt his nerves fraying at the edges, he wanted a body to shoot, hit or stab. Or at least see! Honestly, witches! It would take some time before he went looking for one of them again. Then he recalled that this one had found him and he once again saw his little brother's image and his jaw tightened, she would be made to pay for that.

The third attack occurred when they finally saw a bit of a clearing up ahead and this time it was painfully corporeal. A sudden hail of projectiles flew around their ears and they both went for cover. Dean felt something penetrate his shoulder as he fell behind a tree and, with trembling fingers, he pulled out a small dart. He dropped it on the ground as the tiny wound immediately exploded in stings so bad he gasped. Suddenly Bobby was at his side but Dean couldn't explain what was the matter. Everything had gone hazy and he had trouble breathing, but he heard a female voice, very calm and steady, call from the clearing.

"Bobby Singer. I was aiming for the kid, not you, and I know I got him. He has less than two minutes to live unless he gets the antidote."

There was a slight pause and Dean assessed her statement and, considering the pain, believed every word of it. Judging by Bobby's rigid passivity he did too. Dean squirmed in agony and clung fiercely to his consciousness.

"I know you have taken precautions, I understood that when you got away from the other spells. You are getting good. But that mix won't help against the poison in my darts. If you intend to save him you surrender. _Now_."

Bobby heard the truth in her voice and knew he was, at least temporarily, beaten. He scooped up Dean with surprising strength and hauled him into the clearing. Dean's eyes had clouded over and his loud, raspy breathing scared even him. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, but just when he thought he was really going to die he felt the sting of another dart or a needle in his neck and the pain immediately started withdrawing together with the swelling in his throat. He also felt someone pull the amulet over his head and was then promptly rendered unconscious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**Birds of a feather**

Sam listened to the sounds from outside. He was sure he had heard gunshots even though they had been subdued. And then he had heard a woman, had to be Maggie, calling. After that it was quiet until the door opened. By the sound of it a man was moaning and being dragged across the floor and deposited by the wall. He tried to call out from behind the duct tape but managed only frustrated noises. It was clear that Maggie was tying up someone who was halfway unconscious, and then she left.

After a minute she came in again, dragging something heavy that didn't make any sounds. But considering that she tied up that something too it must be one of Dean or Bobby, and he had to be alive. Sam went through hell, wondering who was moaning and why the other one wasn't. Surely they must both be alive! His attempts at waking them up grew louder and more urgent and when Maggie left the room someone finally heard him and it was a familiar voice that responded.

"Sam! It's you. Are you ok, kid?"

Bobby! Then the person who didn't make a sound was Dean! Sam frantically tried to convey the question of Dean's condition but Maggie came in again and Bobby's attention was on her.

"Margarete."

It sounded in equal measures like a greeting and a curse when he said it, but if he offended her you couldn't tell by her voice. It was as cool and calm as the grave while Bobby's was pure venom.

"Bobby Singer. The man who made me what I am. What do you think? Is it an improvement?"

"At least now everyone can see what you are on the inside. What did you do to Dean?"

Just then Dean gave a cough, letting them know he was alive. Sam felt a ton lighter. He couldn't see it but Bobby was sitting on the floor, hands tied above his head and fastened in the loop. In front of him was a drawing of a symbol on the floor. Dean, a little behind on events, was in the same situation. His priority clear he immediately searched for and found his brother.

"Sam! Are you ok?"

Dean sounded a little hoarse but very much alive and Sam tried to explain how relieved he was about that but had to settle for grunts that would at least tell him that he lived.

Dean, satisfied on that account, then looked at the witch he had come to kill. She had turned her glowing eyes and attention to him as well, and knocked his head on the wall when he reeled back. The... woman… looked hideous! Her grey skin and glowing eyes, not to mention that, that, aura. God, she was a monster, not just a witch. If Bobby had done this to her it was no wonder she wanted revenge. He swallowed but looked her in the eye. Never back down. There was a glint of amusement in those eyes and then she mercifully turned away from him and back to Bobby.

"See? He's ok. This feels just like old times, you attracting the young ones no one would bother about. But, I am sure you are worried that I invited you here to talk about old memories. I need you to undo what you did, Bobby Singer. I want to be rid of this form."

"Go to hell, witch." Bobby's voice sounded curiously strangled. "You killed my Sarah."

"Not completely true. Though I have killed others while being consumed by my state, a state you put me in. Those people's blood is partially on your hands."

Bobby didn't answer, which was an answer in itself, and Dean switched his attention between his brother's prostrate form and his old friend's pained expression. He thought to himself that Bobby should know better than to accept guilt so readily but it was obvious that he had thought so himself. Knowing she had hit a nerve she nodded and moved closer to him, crouching in front of him and looking him straight in the eye.

"And now you will help me reverse the change. I have everything we need. If we succeed I will let you live. And leave with your kids."

"Go. To. Hell."

Bobby repeated, speaking so low it was almost a whisper, his whole body radiating ice cold fury. Margarete rose again, sadly shaking her head, and went over to get the sack from underneath Sam's stretcher. Then she started laying out the things in it in a complicated pattern, humming to herself while doing so. All three men felt the pull of her magic at work and they all had to concentrate to stay outside of it.

Dean's eyes rested on Sam most of the time, trying to find any marks on him or a trace of what he had suffered. But the blanket covered him so it was difficult to tell. He could tell that blood had been shed in the room though. The smell of blood was powerful and he had had enough of it to fill a lifetime, and certainly enough to smell its presence through any other odour. He felt helpless and kept struggling against the ropes, trying to find a knot. At least they were in the same room. He would get Sam out of there, somehow. Whenever he looked over at the witch he felt the need to pinch himself, how could a...a person...like that stay hidden?

The last thing Margarete took out was a silver bowl and that one she carried over to Bobby and, without even pausing to aim, she haphazardly made a deep cut in his left arm. Bobby didn't even flinch and they looked each other in the eyes the whole time, even while she pressed the bowl to his wound and let the blood flow into it. Dean was thankful he couldn't see her face but Bobby's was set in cold hate.

When she felt she had enough she rose and put the bowl down on a circle in the symbol. Bobby's wound kept trickling but it didn't seem to bother him. His complete attention was on the witch. Then she lit up a black candle even though the room was fully lit and put down a book in front of him which he immediately kicked back at her. She frowned but didn't seem surprised.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke. **

**On the Edge**

"You know, I really do think you should consider that answer a bit more."

"I don't do black magic."

Bobby spoke through clenched teeth, white with fury, but Margarete waited. When he didn't say anything she shook her head and said, coldly.

"I knew you were a bastard, Bobby Singer, but I didn't actually believe you would choose vengeance over love. Do these two mean nothing to you? I remember you and Sarah taking care of little urchins and orphans all the time, or did you only do it because she did? I think she would have a little bit disappointed in you, I am sure she thought you were like her."

"Leave these two out of it."

"Why would I? You're a fool."

She spoke without anger or much emotion. Looking between the brothers she said, turning away from him.

"Which one is most important to you? Oh well, might as well continue on the younger one. We have already got off to a good start and I _do_ so like to finish."

And with that she took up the knife and went over to stand next to Sam. He could feel her presence as she took up position on the other side, allowing both Bobby and Dean a clear view of what she intended. She gently placed a hand on his chest and he jumped disproportionately in surprise. Then he felt a knife point at the tip of his throat, pushing, forcing his head backwards. It hurt and he had no choice but to follow the pressure, letting a small, pained sound escape that cut through Dean like a red hot lash across his soul. Then she leaned in towards him, so close he could feel her breath on his lips, and whispered to him, loud enough for all of them to hear:

"This is what we talked about, sweetheart. I told you it might come to this, remember?"

At those words both Dean and Bobby started yelling at her and Sam tried to get rid of the duct tape to yell back that she was only playing them, he hoped, but his movements were limited by the sharp point of the knife. It was horrible to hear the terror in Dean's and Bobby's voices. He stopped struggling as he realised that both men interpreted his fighting as mortal fear. And when he gave up almost as soon as he had started he realised, once again a second too late, that they thought he knew exactly what she spoke about and had already given up the fight for lost. He huffed in defeat and Dean, usually very adapt at interpreting his brother's non-verbal communication, mistook his movements for submission. If looks could have killed Margarete would have fallen to the ground. There was nothing Sam could do but accept that she had played her hand and won because Bobby was telling her:

"I will do it, Christ! Give me the black magic book and I will complete your damn ritual. Just, back away from the kid."

Margarete didn't move at first, she just held her position and stared hard at Bobby with her glowing eyes. It seemed as if she was asking him about something but Dean, his heart madly throbbing, held his eyes on Sam and the knife, praying for a miracle. Praying that she would turn around and fling the knife at him instead. Bobby evidently knew what she was asking because it sounded as if he answered a question when he slowly spoke:

"Margarete. I _do_ believe there is something inside of you that will prevent you from killing innocents. Sa-Sarah thought so, she didn't give up on you. I will help you with this... But not if you hurt that kid. Do that and neither of us will care if we die. And my blood will soon go cold and then there is no way to work the spell. Yes, I know about blood magic…

She relaxed and removed the knife, leaving Sam, and went back to the symbol where she put the book down in front of Bobby. Then she closed her eyes as he took a deep breath. He read through the incantation twice to himself and then cleared his throat and let the alien words roll out across the room.

That there was great magic in them was clear because they soon whipped up a wind, that smelled strongly of wild animals, in the sealed room. The smell changed and told them of the power in instincts, feral and wild, of flapping loose without a pack to belong to. Loneliness and hunger driving you insane. It affected them all and they realised just how little it would take to push each of them over the edge, beyond humanity.

The air rapidly changed temperature as the wind centred on the symbol and the woman in the middle of it. Bobby's voice rose in command and the brothers listened in amazement at his competence in the execution. Both vowed to ask him a lot more about witches and witchcraft if they ever made it out. And suddenly, all at once, the wind was gone and the air back to normal, as if nothing had happened.

Dean looked at the still figure in the symbol. She lay on her side, clutching her midriff, eyes closed. He couldn't tell if she was breathing but the transformation was remarkable. The only skin he could see, since her hair covered her face, was the hands. The grey skin was completely gone and was now a pale, smooth, living colour. Bobby was looking intently at her too and he had a much better view of her face. It took a couple of minutes in which no one in the room spoke, it seemed there was a presence there at work that would be interrupted by them. Though if it was good or bad was hard to tell.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Margarete inhaled deeply and sat up, her eyes meeting Bobby's. She smiled the sweet, charming way she had when he had discovered her doing black magic the first time, unchanged by almost twenty years, and he grew cold. And then she laughed and got up. It wasn't a textbook evil cackle, rather the delighted girlish one of a woman flirting, but it chased fear down their spines anyway.

"Margarete, you got what you wanted. Now let us go!"

Bobby demanded, dividing his attention between the two Winchesters he felt were in his care. She stopped her dance around the room and turned around towards Dean, her eyes no longer glowing but still very difficult to meet straight on. She wanted to know if she was still beautiful and she read the answer in his eyes. Once again she laughed and went over to the window to have a look, it would be the best she could do at the moment since there were no other mirrors in the cottage. She stood still and admired herself for a long while before turning around to Bobby again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Nothing original in here. Dean, Sam and Bobby belong to Supernatural's Erik Kripke.**

**Silence is golden**

"Bobby Singer, you have fulfilled your part of this and I intend to hold mine too. I know you can't accept it but what happened to Sarah was a mistake on all our parts, hers, yours and mine. We all underestimated the powers. I apologise to you and to her and if I were you I'd try to let it go. Sarah is at peace. But if you come after me again I WILL kill you."

Her tone was light but words have power and Bobby felt the intensity in these. He didn't intend to respond but Dean, not being able to keep his mouth shut to save his life…

"Congratulations on getting rid of one enemy, but you just gained another one, bitch. If you have hurt my brother I swear I will hunt you down and make you choke on your own lucky rabbit's foot!"

Margarete tilted her head and looked at him with big, innocent eyes that made him feel like his forehead was made of glass and everything in there laid out bare. Then she laughed again and shrugged.

"Sure, do that. I may need to practise being merciful. And sometimes you do that best by feeling your way in the other direction, just to know all the better what you are moving away from."

She left the room and Bobby growled at Dean to be quiet, just once in his life, for Sammy's sake. Sam just huffed and hoped to be rid of the duct tape soon. He knew he only had a witch's word for that they were to be freed but he longed to set Dean's mind at ease about his current state. He knew from bitter experience how terrible it was not to know if your brother was ok or not and he shifted restlessly. It didn't take more than a few minutes before she was back again and this time she walked over to Bobby and put a tennis ball sized jumble of duct tape in his tied up hands.

"What's this?"

"There's a knife in there that will be a great help in getting rid of the ropes. Surely you didn't think I would just untie you and walk out of here to be shot in the back! When you make it out you'll also notice I have taken the car. I will probably park it somewhere downtown though and switch to something a bit less conspicuous."

She walked over to Dean and felt in his pocket for the keys, smiling while she patted him down. When she found them she left in a merry jingle and a last "bye-bye". Bobby shot Dean a meaningful glare and nodded towards Sam, making Dean bite back the words about car thieves and what circle of hell they would end up in. Dean looked over at Sam and counted to ten before he slammed his head in the wall. It didn't make him feel any better.

Bobby juggled the ball in his hands, carefully pealing layer after layer to get the pocket knife, making sure he didn't drop it. Dean took it in turns to talk soothingly to Sam and rant about witches and the things he'd do to her when he found her. And the cleaning he had to subject his baby to. Bobby, a patience of steel, didn't tell him to shut up, but when he finally held the pocket knife in his hand his sigh of relief wasn't only about getting free.

With a knife in his hands the ropes were gone in two minutes flat and he rose up groaning, mumbling something about getting too old for this. Then he briefly hesitated about whether to free Dean or Sam but, in the end, he lurched over to Dean. If Sam was in bad shape he knew Dean would want to handle it, he had experience after all. Bobby dragged Dean up and handed him the knife, finally allowing himself to stretch his muscles a bit. Dean focused on getting his hands to work properly and, still getting up, called over to Sam.

"I am on the way, kid. Will get you off that…rack… in a moment."

Finally Sam felt Dean's comforting presence as he squeezed his shoulder and brushed the blindfold back. The piece of duct tape was ripped with ease from his mouth.

"Dean"

Sam practically exhaled the name and Dean focused on finding a good spot to start cutting and then looked back at his brother's face, concern in every line, wondering what angle he would work at to get him back on his feet. If he needed it.

"Yeah I am here. Are you hurt?"

"No I am not."

Sam licked his lips, he was still thirsty and it was difficult to get the words out, and there was so much he had to say. Dean however, completely focused on his needs, immediately realised that water would be welcome and looked up at Bobby and, with a jerk of his head, asked him to get it. Bobby went out in the kitchen area.

"You got me real worried there for a bit, Sammy. Obviously I can't let you out of my sight for five minutes before you go and get yourself caught. Of course, the hillbillies that hunted people for sport was an all time low, but honestly, one witch… Jeez, we gotta get you in better shape, kid."

Bobby returned with the water and Dean, having freed his left hand, traded places with him and let Bobby administer water. It didn't take more than a minute and then both hands were free and they helped him to sit up. Sam stoically kept a lid on the groans as his back finally got to change position. He leaned forward and slowly managed to regain control of his hands, moving them to his lap while Bobby supported him and Dean, having tossed the blanket aside and uncovered the stitched up wound, worked on the ropes around his ankles.

"How did you get that wound, Sammy?"

"Can't remember. Does the stitching look ok?"

"Yeah it does. Who did it?"

"She did. Dean, I am fine, I swear. She tied me up, that's all, no torture or anything. And before you came she told me she'd be threatening you guys but I shouldn't be worried because she wouldn't do anything." Sam decided not to mention that it had taken quite some time for her to tell him that, there was no need to make Dean fret now when everything was alright again.

"Certainly looked threatening from where I was sitting", Bobby mumbled.

Sam turned with difficulty so he could see Bobby in the eyes and leaned a fraction of an inch into him in a comforting manner, thinking that was as much comfort as the older hunter could take. But to his surprise Bobby answered with a fierce tightening around his back and a gruff:

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you boys and seeing her standing over you with a knife… well, made me realise… that I should have you over for dinner more often. Then I'd be able to see with my own eyes that you are ok."

Dean, having freed both of Sam's legs, came back up to Sam, his face several shades lighter as he looked his little brother over, silently thanking Heaven for its miracle. As they helped Sam down Bobby, who hadn't supported him before, wondered aloud if he had gained an inch in height, but Sam just told him that it was Bobby who had reached the age where he started shrinking. Dean, a wide grin on his face, hurried his two companions on.

"Alright then, we have another damsel in distress to help before nightfall. Baby is in evil hands and we need to hurry."

And with that they left the cabin.


End file.
